Eulogy
by Poisoned-Quinn
Summary: After Shermy tragically drowns, he longs for his former friend, Charlie brown, to say something worthwhile about him, "the boy with no personality."


**A/N: I have always liked Shermy, even if he was the character with no personality to be mentioned. I don't think he was developed enough in the comic when Mr. Schulz replaced him with the more dynamic characters. Here is a one-shot I wrote of him.**

**XxXxXxXxXxXx**

Even before I had ever set foot in the ocean that killed me, I worried what my friends—or, rather, "friends"— would say at my funeral. Of course, I never voiced this question to my parents, for they would think me as insane. They'd send me to the place 5's parents had sent their daughter 3 to— a place where the "different" or "special" people go.

I used to be best friends with a boy named Charlie Brown, before I died on October 10, 1961. That was my twelfth birthday.

Of course, I say "used" because Charlie Brown, the sweet gullible round-headed kid, ignored me after he met Linus van Pelt and Schroeder. I suddenly became the boy who was his best friend into—poof! —a nobody whom he would occasionally say "hello" to.

I, Shermy LaGuardi, had become nothing.

**XxXxXxXxXxXx**

"Come on, Charlie Brown," I shouted one day, "Come out and play 'Cowboys an' Indians' with me! Please?" I yelled this at Charlie Brown a day he was busy with Schroeder.

Schroeder, Schroeder, Schroeder. That's all that ever came out of Charlie Brown's mouth when he even bothered to talk to me. Schroeder, Schroeder, Schroeder.

I was sick of it then, and I am exhausted by it now as I look down on Charlie Brown from the clouds. Linus—a rather shrewd black-haired boy two years my junior— I could tolerate; but I could hardly stand Schroeder. Even the mention of him got me enraged. To enraged to explain to my mother exactly _why_ I had slammed my bedroom door as I stormed into my room one day.

I could never escape Schroeder. No matter where I wandered in life, people were always talking about the talented-yet-mysterious pianist. Boys envied him. Girls loved him. Of course, I envied him, only because I thirsted for his ability to be so attractive.

He even wooed the one girl I truly liked. Violet Gray. When people saw her, they marveled at her shiny black hair and over brimming confidence. Before Schroeder was ever on the scene, she liked me. We used to do everything together. Then Schroeder charmed her into submission a few months before my untimely death.

I didn't want to die before then. But after Violet left me, I did. Strangely, I am almost glad I drowned. Almost.

**XxXxXxXxXxXx**

I am still nervous about what people will say about me at my funeral. It is today. At twelve in the afternoon, to be exact.

Exactness is something I would have loved to be when I was alive. To state and understatement, I was not exactly… bright. Sports were where it was at for me. Elvis and sports.

Unfortunately, because those hobbies slowly put a hold on my social life, I became more withdrawn. I was too focused on sports.

"Do you see him? He's the one with no personality."

"Hey, Shermy, why don't you smile for once? Or are you too busy being a Friend of Dorothy?"

I received these taunts frequently. Especially the "one with no personality" and "Friend of Dorothy". By asking me whether I was a "Friend of Dorothy", they were questioning my sexuality.

Five days prior to my death, I had finally had enough. I planned to be more social, to not shrug off things. But I never got to do that.

**XxXxXxXxXxXx**

They always said I was a "nice guy". That is all people would ever say about me and my personality. Even back in early childhood, when all of us neighborhood children would sit in a circle and tell everyone what we thought of them, they always said:

"Shermy's really nice."

"Shermy's the nicest person ever."

"Shermy's cute!"

Of course, I should have been more grateful of these "compliments" that the neighborhood kids would give to me, but I still craved for more. I wanted to know what people thought of me.

As the people lined into the church, some spoke. None of the conversation included me, ironically.

Actually, I didn't think it would. After all, I am "the one with no personality". No one will remember me after a year has passed.

Not even Charlie Brown. Oh, Charlie Brown. What did I ever do to you? You left me for Linus and Schroeder over what? You never told me. Do you miss me?

Will I ever know?

**XxXxXxXxXxXx**

The eulogy.

I was waiting for this moment. To add to my excitement, my parents had tapped no one else but Charlie Brown to do the honors of the eulogy. Perhaps he would say something worthwhile about his friend who had drowned oh-so-tragically on his twelfth birthday. His friend who never got the chance to kiss someone, to try out for the football team, or to live life.

I am breathlessly watching Charlie Brown as he is walking up to the altar. He bows before it, and steps up to where the microphone is. _Please say something worthwhile, Charlie Brown. Show me that you're my friend. I know you care._

A doubt nags me, but I push it to the back of my mind as Charlie Brown licks his lips, and opens his mouth.

"Shermy LaGuardi was a nice guy…"

****XxXxXxXxXxXx****

**A/N: I am not sure whether I like this one. I thought it ended sadly :'(**

**Review, favorite, etc. That would be nice! I would like to see your opinions!**


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